“We rolled the guns over the cliff, as we did the wrecked one. Like the first, each gun is submerged and out of sight. The difference being, each has a float marking its position. If we wish to salvage the guns, we can just use the capstan to pull them out of the water.”
“Tell me Mister Phillips, why should we do this? We already have all the guns we need on Dreadnaught.”
“Sir, I thought we could mount a pair on the tender. At any rate, we would deprive the French of their use.”
“Have you given any thought as to how you would get them aboard? The water where they are located is shoal. We could never get either Dreadnaught or the tender close.”
“Sir, Mister Henkle thought we could use the two launches, connected to each other by beams at their bow and stern. At present, the wave action gives a scend of around three feet. We could secure the harness to the beams spanning the boats, hauling taut as the boat drops in the trough of a wave. The wave action would tend to raise the guns at each swell. The guns would be bouncing along the bottom, as we pulled out into deeper water. Once in water deep enough, it will be simple enough to get them out to the ship.”
“Very well, Mister Phillips. We will give it a try. Our time on this coast must be limited, so if we have any difficulty, we may have to abandon the guns. Remember, at the end of this cruise, we must surrender the tender to the prize court, guns and all.”
The launches made their way to the floating boards marking the gun’s position on the seabed. Working with one gun at a time, the cables secured to the guns were made fast to the beams connecting the launches. As the boats rose and fell in the wave action, the cables were hauled taut. When the sea rose, the gun would be pulled off the bottom for an instant.
The oarsmen were constantly pulling against the anchoring effect of the underwater gun, and gradually, inch by inch were able to pull out into deeper water. The jolly boat, with a sounding pole, kept to seaward of them, guiding them through the shoal waters.
Eventually, deeper water was attained, where the gun did not touch the bottom, then more progress was made. Eventually, upon reaching the tender, the lashings holding the gun to the launches were cut, and the gun allowed to fall to the bottom.
Now the cable attached to the gun was bent on the bower anchor cable which was hauled aboard using the capstan. The second gun was lost, when the rope cradle of the gun was apparently cut or frayed through by something on the bottom. The depth of the water was nearly ten fathoms, so it was felt it would be safe from recovery by the French.
The third gun made it to the ship without incident, although when it came aboard, several of the lines making up the sling were badly frayed.
With no more time to spend on the coast, the Dreadnaught and her tender left.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dreadnaught sailed up the Spanish coast, capturing and burning all the enemy shipping she encountered. Even ships with high valued cargo were not spared. This far from a friendly port, there was no hope of recruiting new crewmembers to replace those sent away on prizes.
One morning, the master approached his captain on the quarterdeck, and announced, according to his reckoning, the ship would pass into French waters within the next hour. He had another bit of news. The riding tiers of water had been consumed, and they were now using that stored right down on the ground tier.
Some of the big butts had been contaminated with bilge water, and there were complaints from the crew. He was respectfully advising there be some thought of where to find a source of fresh water.
Satisfying himself the danger of running out was not imminent, Phillips decided to continue on for a space. Upon entering French waters, a curious contraption was seen high on a hill onshore. On top of its peak was a moving beam of sorts, with appendages at the ends which also moved at various angles.
No one on the quarterdeck had an idea of what this was. The wardroom had invited the captain for dinner that day, and it was from their chaplain-interpreter they learned the purpose of the contrivance. He identified it as a Chappe telegraph tower which the enemy was using to send information from one station to the next across country. It used a moveable main beam on top of the tower, with two smaller arms attached to it, as sort of a semaphore device.
Apparently changing positions of these parts could convey complex messages, but thus far, no one in the Admiralty had a clue as to the code used. The tower that they had noticed was now behind them, but another was coming up on their port bow, its arms moving rapidly. At the moment, the towers were probably telling their counterparts down the line about the interloping ships in the vicinity.
Giving the matter some thought, Phillips ordered the office of the watch to take the ship farther out to sea, with a gradual course change. Calling all officers to the quarterdeck, he advised them he was considering attacking one of these towers, with the view of looking for the code books.
He said they would continue heading out to sea, until out of sight of land, at which time they would beat back toward the first tower. It was hoped the crew in that tower would assume they were now far up the coast. Timing their arrival for after dark, the assault party ashore who would take the signal tower would be pulled ashore in the boats. After a successful attack, especial effort should be used searching for any papers of any kind.
Mister Watkins commanded the party of Royal Marines and armed seamen. The boats left early, but the plan was for them to wait offshore until nearly dawn. Hopefully, they could attack in the dark, but would have the morning light to examine their handiwork.
After the boats had left, Phillips ordered silence on the ship, warning the lookouts on deck to listen for shots, or other extraneous sounds.
With dawn approaching, the ship bore away for the shore, using the lead to ensure the ship had a sufficient depth of water under her keel. Now, they could see lights in the building below the tower.
The sun was above the horizon when they saw the first tendrils of smoke arising from the telegraph building. The building was fully engulfed in flame when the boats left their moorings and headed out to the ship.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Once the landing party was onboard, and the ship headed out to sea again, Phillips called his first officer and the Marine captain into his dining cabin, where a breakfast had been laid on the table.
After his servant had left, Phillips asked the pair for a verbal report. Lieutenant Watkins started.
“Sir, we were ahead of plan when we spotted the surf line. As decided earlier, we waited offshore for an hour until we could see the very first hints of dawn. We then headed ashore, reaching the beach as the sun came up. Captain Wallace assumed command of the assault at that time.”
Wallace spoke up. “Sir, we landed in early dawn on the beach before the telegraph building. A dog took notice of us, but no local paid attention to its barking. There were a dozen huts at the base of the tower housing a few troops and some civilian personnel, including women.”
“We collected these people and put them under guard without incident. On entering the tower, we encountered a man, presumably the signalman, asleep in a chair. There was a mass of papers and books on the fellow’s desk. Private Owens, on my orders, collected up this material and threw it into the dead fireplace.”
“Owens then hustled the man outside, and I retrieved the material and went through it. Most was irrelevant, but the signal book was there. I removed the cover of the book and secured the pages inside. I put the cover around a novel the man had been reading, and placed that back in the fireplace. Lighting it, from the man’s lantern, I called Owens to allow the telegrapher to return to retrieve his personal belongings before we torched the place.”
“He came in and immediately went to his desk, then the fireplace, which was well alight now.” He asked for the novel he had been reading, and I pointed to the fire. The cover of the signal book was still visible, and the man seemed relieved when he saw it burning.”
“We took a quick look through the building
, and placed some furniture strategically so it would burn. The soldiers under guard were stripped of their clothing, which was thrown into the burning building along with their weapons. When we left, the building was burning furiously.”
“I expect the French authorities, when examining the remains, will determine the signal books were destroyed in the fire. In fact, I suspect the telegrapher will claim to have destroyed the code book himself.”
After placing a few bottles of his best claret on the table, he went out to the quarterdeck and told the deck officer to call for an early grog issue for the crew, in celebration.
Dreadnaught continued up the coast, assaulting and burning the telegraph stations. One afternoon, she overtook a column of troops marching along the coast road, presumably answering a distress message from one of the telegraph stations. As the liner approached, the troops deployed into line, on the road. A pair of light artillery pieces was deployed in the center.
Phillips called the master over with his chart of the area, where they determined how close they could get to the enemy. With the troops strung out as they were, they presented no good target to the ships guns. However, there seemed little danger to the ship either, since they were well out of musket range.
The artillery pieces presented a challenge to the ship, and Lieutenant Watkins was busy pointing them out to the midshipmen commanding the gun sections.
The enemy gunners were making their preparations, when the port broadside fired. Watkins had ordered all guns on that side of the ship to fire in a ripple broadside. Every gun would fire a second or so after its neighbor. Both upper and lower deck guns were pounding at the enemy.
The ship was out of range for grapeshot, but the heavy iron balls were executing the enemy efficiently enough. Early on, one gun was struck a glancing blow on the gun’s barrel, throwing it spinning from its carriage. The remaining gun got off one round before a ball smashed the gun carriage’s axle, and knocked it down.
Phillips then ordered the guns to concentrate on the troops, detailing one gun section to fire on four mounted officers. In moments, the entire formation had ceased to exist as a military unit, and was now a disorganized mob. Soldiers were fleeing up the side of the hill, dropping their equipment. Come morning, local villagers would gather up what gear they thought they could use or sell.
Phillips regretted they were not a few miles south into Spain, since there the partisans would have made short work of the disorganized and fleeing troops. Even so, many of the conscripts would scatter, perhaps be missing for days, and the French provosts would have a most difficult time getting them back together.
Phillips suspected from that time forward, those individual soldats would cringe when they saw a ship approaching a road along which they were marching.
The ship tried to follow the fleeing men, firing when there was a worthwhile target but soon it was no longer worthwhile. As the ship turned away from the coast for the safety of the open sea, he wondered if he had accomplished what he needed to do. True, the French forces must be in disarray, from the raids on shore and the burning of the telegraph towers, but was there more he could do?
As he pondered this, he noticed the ship’s surgeon talking with the master over by the lee rail. Dr. Persons rarely ventured from his space in the nether regions of the ship, and Phillips was curious.
The master seeing the captain looking at them, ventured over, the doctor in trail. Phillips noticed the doctor was carrying a jar of brownish liquid.
What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he offered.
Mister Jensen, the master, stepped forward. “It’s like this, Captain. Not only are we cruelly short of water, but what we do have is foul. Dr. Persons says it is not fir for man nor beast.”
Phillips queried the doctor. “Do you concur with this, Doctor Persons?”
“I do Captain. I foresee health problems for the crew if we do not get better water.”
Assuring them he would see what they could do, Phillips dismissed them and began pacing the quarterdeck, trying to imagine how he was going to supply the ship with water.
Perhaps he might capture a French coaster, and remove most of its water. Dreadnaught continued up the French coast, and wry looks and muttering were becoming prevalent among the crew. Off the mouth of the Rhone they discovered a small brig. Both Dreadnaught and her consort sailed after it, but it fled into a small, well-defended port inside the delta.
Phillips debated with himself the possibilities of cutting out the brig, but gave up the idea. The battery on shore fired a gun, to let them know the garrison was alert. Troops began forming up on shore, while the telegraph was swinging its arms with abandon. There was a strong probability that soon a strong naval force might arrive on the scene. It was just not worth the risk.
As he mused over his situation, he stared at the water below. An idea came to mind, and he passed the word for his son. He took the lad into his dining cabin and told him he had a plan which for now, he wanted to be kept quiet. He picked up a bottle on his table left over from his dinner. It was still half full of wine. Normally, his steward took care of such details of disposing of surplus wine. Perhaps the man was not thirsty today.
Finding a pair of glasses from the storage cabinet, he poured the remainder of the wine into the two glasses and handed one to his son. The boy was surprised. At home, his parents had never allowed him to drink wine. On board ship, of course, he had his daily ration of grog, duly watered down, although he had never been given any parental advice on the subject.
After the pair had finished their wine, Phillips handed Timothy the empty bottle with its cork. “Timothy, I want you to take the jolly boat over to the Philomena, give her captain my regards then return here. On the way, I want you to fill the bottle with water you will collect from over the side of the boat here in the estuary. I want to determine how salty it is. Try not to let the boat’s crew know what you are doing. I would just as soon not let them know my plan until we think we can make it work.”
“Sir, what shall I tell Mister Andrews?”
“First of all, you should call him Captain, since he commands that brigantine. Go aboard and tell him I send my regards, then leave.”
An hour later the boy was back, bringing the wine bottle, now filled with estuary water. Phillips decanted a little of the water into a glass and tasted it. The water was salty, but not unpleasantly so.
“Timothy, I want you to fetch the master and the doctor. As quickly as you like!”
When the two had arrived, he handed them the bottle and two glasses. “Doctor, would you tell me if the human constitution can stand this water?”
He took a sip and made a wry face. “I suppose one could live on it, but water a bit fresher would be better.”
“Mister Jensen, I want you to examine your charts. I want to take the ship up one of the estuary channels. The tender can go in ahead of us, to give us warning of shoal waters. I want to get upstream far enough so there will be little salt in the water.”
That afternoon, the liner and her tender cautiously made their way up an outlet of the Rhone. When the master reported the water was becoming too shallow, and requested permission to turn back, Phillips instead gave orders to anchor. He boarded the ship’s launch and was pulled over to the tender.
She drew much less water than Dreadnaught, and was able to travel upstream another mile without difficulty. A tributary was discovered flowing into the main channel. Its water seemed clearer than that in the channel they were ascending. Phillips ordered his boat crew to take the launch up the tributary a bit and take water samples.
On returning, Doctor Persons determined the sample taken at the farthest point up the tributary was the best. Phillips called his coxswain and told him what he was about. His boat crew was to go over the already immaculate launch and make sure the inside was as clean as it could be.
Then, using the tender’s launch, they would tow Dreadnaught’s launch up the tributary until they reached the spot where the last
sample had been gathered. Once there, the bung would be removed from the drain hole in the launches bottom, and the boat allowed to fill with all the water she could hold, and still remain afloat. The launch would then be returned to the tender where the water in the boat would be pumped into the tender’s water butts.
Once the boats had returned, the tender’s fire engine was used to pump the water aboard the tender. By sharing the water now aboard the tender, Phillips felt they had enough water to return to Gibraltar, but for safety, decided to get another load.
With a fresh boat crew pulling, the two launches returned to the watering site. Phillips was becoming more nervous by the minute, since both ships would be helpless if a ship of force anchored in the channel and took them under fire.
However, the launches finally arrived. The laden launch had touched on a sand bar, and it was with some difficulty she was worked free. The launch was towed downstream until they met with Dreadnaught. An hour’s pumping got all the water on board, and then they were off!
As they left the estuary into the open sea, they encountered a flotilla of three ships. Two frigates, one of twenty four guns, the other thirty two. A sixteen gun corvette accompanied them. The enemy was strung out across the mouth of the delta, as if to prevent the pair from leaving.
Phillips doubted the enemy fleet’s commander had much experience. They were spread out far enough apart so it would be difficult to support each other. With the land breeze behind him, Dreadnaught and the tender went straight for the corvette. If all three of the enemy concentrated on the liner, they could cause her serious injury.
By taking one or more from the game early on though, the enemy’s chances were much reduced. The corvette lay with the wind on her port beam, her broadside ready for Dreadnaught. Unfortunately, that broadside consisted of eight guns firing eight pound shot. She fired early, and only one ball reached Dreadnaught.
HMS DREADNAUGHT: A John Phillips Novel Page 7
